


Replacing a Burnt Heart

by ScarrletRaven



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: BDSM, Collar, Kidnapping, Light Bondage, M/M, Post The Fall, Rape, S&M, Sex, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-01
Updated: 2013-12-01
Packaged: 2018-01-03 03:58:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1065493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarrletRaven/pseuds/ScarrletRaven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I've already told you what I want, Sherlock. I want you. I want you to want me, to feel incomplete without me, to beg me to take you, to cry out for me in the night, in need, in want of me.” Moriarty's pupils were blown, his lecherous smile put Sherlock on edge and the hard bulge pressing into his stomach made him wish we was anywhere but there. “I will have you Sherlock Holmes, my love, I already possess your body, all that's left is your soul. All that's left is to fill the ash of your soul that persists after the fire with me. Then you'll understand.”</p><p> </p><p>Rated Explicit for sexual content. Be warned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Replacing a Burnt Heart

**Author's Note:**

> I've been reading the same Sherlock/Moriarty stories over and over again. Moriarty takes Sherlock at the threat of his friends, he rapes him, Sherlock manages to escape, Moriarty is locked up, Sherlock and John skip into the sunset. But that's not Sherlock/Moriarty. Not really. It's Johnlock (well ok, there is Sheriarty in there too, but it's the ending that counts, right?). Anyway, this is me trying to write something without John (as awesome as John is) in it. Enjoy.

Sherlock watched John from his place in the cemetery. His flatmate's words carried over the soft wind to him, _“Please, Sherlock, don't be dead. Just- you can't be- Just don't be dead.”_ He felt a prick of sentimentality stab at his eyes, but he quickly blinked it away. His attention was diverted from John when his phone, whose number no one should possess, buzzed in his pocket. He stood rigid, heart beat increasing slightly as his analytical mind raced. There were only two people he could think of intelligent enough to suspect he was still alive and then manage to get into contact with him: Mycroft and-

“Hello honey~, did you miss me?”

“ _Moriarty_.”

“Say that again, this time with a little bit less malice,” the voice on the other end of the line taunted.

“But you were dead. You shot yourself.”

“Oh Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock... When are you ever going to learn? I will always be one step ahead of you. That way I can always attain what I want.”

“And what is it you want? To _burn_ me?” Sherlock mocked. “Don't you think this game is getting old now, Moriarty? You have defamed me. You have killed me. What more could you wish to attain-” He paused as his mind worked faster than his words. “ _Oh_.”

“You finally understand now, don't you?” The pleased intonation of Moriarty's voice didn't slip Sherlock's notice. “Now that you're dead, no one will think to look for you once I've taken you as my pet.”

A shiver ran down Sherlock's spine. “What if I refuse? Let me guess, you'll threaten my friends again.”

“Don't be so _boring_ , Sherlock,” Moriarty drawled out, savouring the consulting detective's name on his tongue. “How unoriginal that would be. Yes, I have snipers who could easily kill your friends, but you don't have a choice. You will be coming to me. In fact, you'll be here when you open your eyes again.”

Sherlock's form turned rigid at the implication of the words. He glanced around wearily, looking for Moriarty's men. His breathing increased, his body betraying him and entering fight-or-flight mode, his mind raced for self-preservation.

Moriarty's laughter rang over the phone. “I own this world, Sherlock, and honey, I own you now too. Now come to Daddy~!”

Sherlock heard a sound, soft, but audible. He ducked and narrowly avoided a dart that had been heading straight towards his back. His eyes darted in the direction the dart had come from before he raced in opposite way, entering the foresty patch of trees that surrounded the graveyard. His heart raced. This wasn't supposed to happen. His breathing quickened. Why was his body acting this way? Panic filled him and he realised the effects were onset from the drug used to fake his death. The adrenaline must have reawoken the remnants in his system. He didn't have long. He narrowly dodged a couple more darts.

 _Moriarty is smarter than this_ , his mind warned him. _He doesn't hire people who miss_. Then what? Why hadn't they taken him down yet? _Oh_. _Of course_. He stopped dead in his tracks, but it was too late. A black van burst through the trees at that moment and he experienced a stab of pain in his neck. As the world around him spun, his eyes darted upwards, into the trees. They locked with light, green-gray eyes. _Sebastian Moran_. One of the best snipers in the world. Moriarty's right-hand man.

Sherlock's mind lurched, his body swayed, he fell into awaiting arms and was dragged into the black van. As he looked through the trees, perhaps it was his delusional mind, he thought he saw John Watson, staring back at him before his body fell lax and the world turned black.

 

 

~Jimlock Sheriarty~

 

 

The first thing Sherlock noticed when he awoke were the wide, round, chocolate brown eyes, inches away from his face. He groaned when he tried to move, only to find himself bound. His foggy mind attempted to kick into action. He was on the end of a bed, wrists were cuffed together, legs were bound together. The drug was still in effect, although its hold was lessening and its effects likely would not persist for more than half an hour. The room was empty save for himself and Moriarty, but the slight shuffling suggested his minions waited outside.

“Hello, Honey, you're home~,” Moriarty sang in a way that only he could. “What do you think of the place, huh? I had it designed after your interests.”

Sherlock's eyes moved slowly over what he could see of the room. Moriarty had done well. It was exactly as Sherlock liked. “Observational of you,” Sherlock tested his voice, satisfied with its even tone. _Less than 30 minutes until the effects wear off then_.

“Well, I just want to take care of you, after all, Pet.” Moriarty moved away from the bed, taking in the room himself. “Sombre, go figure that's your preference. You didn't make a very good angel, we'll have so much more fun now that you've left their side.”

“Taken that I'm bound on a bed, I presume your idea of fun equates to the converse of mine. Something animalistic and simplistic. Honestly, Moriarty, I thought you weren't like everyone else. I thought you didn't like to get your hands dirty.”

Sherlock waited for anger. He waited for the consulting criminal's fury. He fully expected to be hit, punched, beaten for his words. He was startled when Moriarty _laughed_. “Oh, isn't that sweet?” he leered at Sherlock. “ _You're scared_.” Another laugh and Sherlock felt his chest tighten.

“I've given no indication of fear-”

“Oh, but you have. I know you Sherlock,” Jim's voice gleamed with a smile, “And I know what frightens you the most. Pain, now that's something you can handle, something your mind can make sense of, but _pleasure_ , that's something else entirely. You're frightened of losing control of your precious world, of falling slave to something your detective mind cannot explain.”

“My mind can explain it perfectly well. Chemicals, chemicals are released into the blood stream and they cause the sexual response. The body's innate desire to pass on genes causes it to release endorphins and cause pleasure to encourage a person to partake in sexual activities. I've no reason to be frightened by that, nor to desire it.”

“ _Wrong_.” Moriarty's smile still gleamed upon his lips. “You were right about one thing, I'll give you that Sherlock. The response is caused by chemicals, and _Honey_ , you're addicted to chemicals.” Sherlock's blood froze. “And soon, you'll be addicted... to me.”

 _He's using my biology against me_ , Sherlock thought to himself. “That won't happen. My mind is too rational to fall for that.”

“Oh love, you really think so?” Moriarty raised a brow at his bound captive. “Well then, I suppose I'll just have to use this.” From a drawer, Moriarty produced a collar.

Sherlock blanched. “You're taking this pet thing a little bit too far.” He was not going to be collared and treated like a dog. Like Moriarty's sex toy.

“Oh no, Sherlock, just far enough.” He grinned as he approached him. “But don't worry, I'm a kind Master when my Pet behaves.”

Moriarty slipped the collar around Sherlock's neck, and just when it snapped into place, Sherlock managed to dislocate one of his thumbs and slip off a hand cuff. He shoved Moriarty off himself and fell to the floor. He quickly got to his feet, despite his bound legs. He held his hands in front of himself in a defensive position. “Release me,” he demanded.

“Oh, you'll get your _release_ in due time, dear,” Moriarty mocked, twisting Sherlock's words. “Let Daddy take care of you.”

Sherlock's hand throbbed, but he ignored it. He was a better fighter than Moriarty. All he needed to do was knock him out, then take the opportunity to grab his phone and- and what? Send a message to his brother? Come save me? He'd worry about that when he got there. He leapt at Moriarty- and then crumpled to the ground in agony.

Moriarty rolled his eyes. “Always so dramatic, Sherlock. You always have to ruin a good time, but no matter, you would have found out the effects of the collar eventually. Aw, but look what you've done to your poor thumb, Pet. I will not tolerate self-abuse in this household.” Moriarty's eyes possessed a dangerous glint. Sherlock groaned in pain on the floor and Moriarty dragged the larger man to the bed, dumping him unceremoniously there. Jim sat down besides him and cast his gaze over Sherlock's shaking form. “What am I going to do with you, huh?” His fingers stroked the collar around Sherlock's neck before pressing something. The pain ceased instantly and Sherlock stilled, his rapid breathing the only reminder of what had just happened.

“A shock collar,” Sherlock commented once he had regained his breath. “So I'm your dog, am I?”

“Oh no, Sherlock, you're much more than that. People don't usually fuck their dogs.” Moriarty said the words as if they were something tender and considerate, he stroked Sherlock's dark curls off his damp forehead and Sherlock tried not to let the effect the words had on him show on his face. But Moriarty knew. Moriarty _always_ knew.

“So you're going to rape me.” It wasn't a question. Moriarty seemed to miss that.

“Oh, _no_ , it's not rape if you shout, 'Surprise!'” He giggled.

“What do you hope to attain from this? What do you _want_?” Sherlock regretted the words the moment they passed through his lips. He was delaying the inevitable, hoping someone would come for him, but he knew no one would. He was dead to them.

Moriarty's body was pressed over his own in seconds and it was all Sherlock could do to not shove him off when he leaned close, hands on either side of Sherlock's head, body pressing him deeper into the soft bed. “I've already told you what I want, Sherlock. I want you. I want you to want me, to feel incomplete without me fully sheathed inside your tight ass, to beg me to take you, to cry out for me in the night, in need, in want of _me_.” Moriarty's pupils were blown, his lecherous smile put Sherlock on edge and the hard bulge pressing into his stomach made him wish we was anywhere but there. “I will have you Sherlock Holmes, my love, I already possess your body, all that's left is your soul. All that's left is to fill the ash of your soul that persists after the fire with me. Then you'll understand.”

“Understand-” his question was cut off abruptly when his lips were claimed. Pleasure raced through his veins as Moriarty's tongue forced entry, as it probed and prodded. Sherlock moaned openly, his mind overwhelmed with the feelings this man was causing him. _Danger_ , his mind warned him, _this shouldn't be happening. You shouldn't be feeling like this over a kiss_. His body ignored the rational side of him and he found his hands tangling in Moriarty's hair, pulling him closer as heat filled him and he felt himself grow hard. _The collar_ , his mind tried. _It's the collar._ His eyes opened wide and he shoved Moriarty off him abruptly.

The man fell to the floor with an indignant shout and Sherlock clawed at the collar on his neck. It was metal, but it was more than just that. It was machinery, and it was currently sticking a needle into his neck and releasing endorphins. His mind hardly registered Moriarty towering above him until he felt his neck snap, his cheek burn, as he was slapped so hard he fell off the bed.

“Naughty, naughty boy,” Moriarty growled and this time, he was not playing. Genuine rage burned in his eyes. “I've waited far too long, lost far too many clients to own you.” Moriarty pulled Sherlock abruptly to his feet. His rasped into his ear, “I understand, my _Virgin_ , I understand, dear. The first time is the hardest, but it will get easier. You won't fight it soon, _you'll crave it_ , and then we'll never be bored again, not with each other. You'll soon see, we were meant for each other.” Moriarty stepped back from Sherlock, who stood on wobbly legs. “Now, strip for me, Pet.”

“You do realize,” Sherlock chose his words carefully, “I can't do that with my legs bound together.”

Moriarty approached him slowly. He pulled a knife out of his sleek jacket pocket. Sherlock stiffened as he moved towards him with it. He remained completely still as Jim cut the bounds off his ankles. The moment he finished, Sherlock drove his knee up- Only to have it caught in Moriarty's grasp. He stumbled, and then fell as Moriarty shoved him backwards. A groan escaped his lips as he fell upon the floor. “That wasn't very nice, now deary.” Moriarty frowned down at him. “You're beginning to wear on my patience, I wouldn't. Do. That. If I were you~.” Moriarty's threat burned in his words, despite the sing-song manner in which they were said. “I'll forgive you, though, just this once, if you apologize.”

Sherlock scoffed from his place on the ground. “And if I don't?”

“There is no, 'if you don't'. You will.”

A roll of the eyes. “You're really beginning to bore me.”

“Nope. Try again.” Moriarty stared intently down at him, and Sherlock cursed the man for seeing through his taunts.

“What happens if I don't?” Sherlock repeated again, this time through his teeth.

“Fine, fine, but you won't choose this option, I know you. Even to prove me wrong, you wouldn't choose this option. If you don't do as I ask, I put you on LSD. I'm sure you've heard of that one, yes? I chain you down and leave you to hallucinate, trapped in a faulty mind with no sense of reality.”

“Hmm...” Sherlock pretended the words didn't get to him. He remembered all too well the panic that filled him at Baskerville, the fear of not being able to trust his own senses. Was that worse than apologizing to James Moriarty for attempting to knee him in the face? His mind argued, _No_. Moriarty was right, he wouldn't choose that option over something so petty. “I... apologize.”

“Sorry, what was that,” Jim asked with a smirk.

“I said I apologize.” Sherlock glared up at him.

“Apologize to _whom_?”

“James Moriarty-”

“Nah ah, to you, I'm Daddy!”

“You have to be joking,” Sherlock muttered under his breath, wondering how he had managed to entrance the attention of a psychopath. Well, Sherlock quite amazing, to be fair...

“ _Say it_ ,” James demanded.

“I apologize... Daddy.” _Words, they're just words, Sherlock_. Words that made Moriarty squeal with joy.

“Oh, Pet, I forgive you.” He smiled with delight, eyes shining. “Now, let's move to the fun part!”

Sherlock felt his stomach drop. Moriarty helped him to his feet once more and gave the same command as before, _“Strip.”_ Sherlock unbuttoned his shirt first, deliberately slow, his mind still assessing the situation, still trying to find a way out, but the only options would take longer than one night to explore. His shirt fell to the floor and Sherlock heard Moriarty's breath hitch in his throat. He felt his cheeks burn red under the other man's lustful gaze. It wasn't as if Sherlock hadn't had such gazes cast in his direction before, but never had he had someone look as deep into him as Moriarty did. Jim saw him, he saw everything he was, and he understood him. And now, he wanted to claim him and give Sherlock the one distraction he never allowed himself: Sex.

His pants were next. He fumbled awkwardly with the buckle of his belt. His efforts enticed Moriarty closer, close enough to aid him in removing another layer of his protection. He could feel the other man's breath on his neck as Moriarty dropped the belt to the ground and undid the button, then his zip and let Sherlock's trousers fall to the ground. The hands that ghosted up Sherlock's bare waist left goosebumps in their wake.

“I'm so glad,” Moriarty whispered in Sherlock's ear, “So glad I'm the first to have you. The first, and the last.” Sherlock shivered despite himself at the words. He caught Moriarty's hands when they began tugging at his underwear. “Oh, you're adorable, do you know that Sherlock? So shy... So innocent.” Moriarty smiled genuinely up at Sherlock. “Don't worry, Daddy will take good care of you.”

With that, Sherlock stood completely naked before his opposite, who was so similar to Sherlock, yet so different as well. Sherlock's mind searched again for escape options as he was led to the bed. His eyes darted around the protected room as he was laid gently on the bed. It was only when Moriarty removed his own clothes that Sherlock saw them. Cameras. “You're filming this?” his voice shook and he chastised himself mentally for it.

Jim turned his eyes back to Sherlock. “Yes, I want to have a record of our first time together. Don't worry, love, none of my lackies will see this.”

His clothes dropped to the ground and a dastardly smirk danced on his lips at Sherlock's sharp intake of breath upon seeing the man naked. Moriarty crawled over him and pulled a bottle of lube from the nightstand drawer. He rubbed the strange liquid-like substance on his fingers before looking down into Sherlock's light blue eyes.

“Turn over,” Moriarty ordered, voice hardly louder than a whisper, but nevertheless firm. When Sherlock didn't make to move, Moriarty gave him a piercing look. “ _Sherlock_ ,” he warned. Sherlock took in a deep breath before allowing Moriarty to turn him over. He had his face turned sideways so he wouldn't suffocate on the overly fluffy pillow. His eyes widened as he felt the damp fingers prod his entrance. The reality of the situation was beginning to crash down on him. The effects of the drugs had worn off completely now, but a different type of drug raced through his veins now, one telling him to run, run, _run_.

Sherlock suppressed the pathetic noise that attempted to escape his throat when Moriarty pushed a finger inside of him. This was _wrong_. Where was John? Where was Mycroft? Lestrade? _At your funeral_ , his brain told him. He groaned as another finger was added, as Moriarty scissored them inside him.

“So tight,” Moriarty whispered, voice debauched. “Just for me.” When the fingers were removed and there was another sound of the lube, Sherlock knew what was coming, but he didn't know what to do with his knowledge. There was nothing he could do. For once, he was utterly and inexplicitly trapped. Moriarty had outsmarted him, the thought both terrified and excited him. “Surpirse,” Moriarty whispered.

He felt his hairs stand on edge as Moriarty guided his cock to Sherlock's hole, as he pressed slowly in, allowing Sherlock's burning warmth to take him in completely, sucking him ball's deep. Sherlock's eyes watered and he let out a pathetic mewl in pain. “Shh, shh, my love, it's alright.” Moriarty stroked Sherlock's hair, attempting to calm him. What really frightened Sherlock was that it was working. He felt himself growing accustomed to the hard length buried within him. It was only when Jim began to move again that Sherlock cried out, “No!” before he could stop himself.

Moriarty continued in his endeavour and the pain very quickly morphed into the very thing Sherlock was afraid of. Unbridled pleasure burned within him. He moaned despite himself, twitched as Moriarty picked up his pace and began pounding into him. He felt his hips moving to meet Moriarty, his body betraying him. He groaned as he grew hard. This feeling, it was all consuming. His mind couldn't think, couldn't process. Everything faded away except for this, except for the feelings Moriarty was causing him, the euphoria. It was better than cigarettes. Almost as good as the moment when all the pieces of a particularly tricky case snapped into place.

“Moriarty,” he felt the name on his tongue, like audible betrayal. “Hnnnnnng.” He couldn't stop the noises that were escaping his lips, try as he might. His body was quivering, growing more and more fervent in attaining what it needed, in sustaining the pleasure. He was gone. He was coming. White passion burned across his vision as the sheer force of the orgasm shook his frame. Moriarty continued, pounding into his sensitive form until Sherlock's tight, clenched, opening was too much and he too came, filling Sherlock with his seed. Moriarty collapsed on top of Sherlock, breathing heavily, before he pulled out of him and flipped onto his back next to the detective on the bed.

The pleasure began to subside, but the tingling sensation of Sherlock's skin persisted. It was only when Moriarty's fingers drummed on Sherlock's back that the latter realised how bruised and clawed up he was. “Oh, what fun we're going to have together, my pet.” James Moriarty smiled into Sherlock's eyes before kissing him on the forehead. “You belong to me now, body and soul.”

**Author's Note:**

> Anyone have suggestions of good Sherlock/Moriarty stories to read? (I think I've read them all :O)


End file.
